The Richness of Sorrow

I lost my Grandpa this week. He was my last living grandparent.

I cannot claim his death as my loss alone - it is a more profound loss for my father, aunts and uncles. They lost their father. And although the passing of Eugene Bradford was not a surprise, it does sting the way only the death of a family member stings.

It really has nothing to do with how close we were. I have to admit that we were not very close. Still, he was a presence in my life from the day I was born. He is included in some of my earliest and most profound memories. I can trace characteristics from him, through my father directly to me. Some are assets, others are not. But either way, he is a part of me. So for that reason- among many others - I mourn the loss. And look forward to mourning in the company of my family.

I am lucky to say its only happened a few times in my adult life. But, in my experience, there is nothing as powerful as the process of mourning the loss of a family member. I recall the last experience as one of the most beautiful and most powerful in my life. I've been wondering why - and I think I figured it out.

First, there are not many occasions during which an entire family comes together. Sure there are holidays, but often we are too busy running around, running errands and splitting our time up between other relatives and in-laws to really enjoy the company of our families. Especially if we have to travel great distances. But a death in the family is different. Its usually not anticipated or planned and it almost always brings relatives from every corner of the country (or the world) together.

And second, and perhaps most important, is the opportunity to lean on one another. I hope I can express this accurately: We spend our lives, especially as adults, being self-sufficient and strong (at least we try). A death in the family is one of the few times in life when we permit ourselves to depend on someone else. A time when we know that others understand our pain, because they're feeling it too. And because of that shared pain, and the shared support, we feel closer and more connected than at any other time in our lives. It is rich! Because of that support, the sting of the loss gets a little bit duller, while the rest of the world gets so much more vivid. Laughter is brighter, smiles are genuine, hugs are bigger and more meaningful. Even food tastes better! And during the richness of sorrow - families are strongest.

So in the coming days I will gather with my family to mourn the passing of my Grandfather. I will lean on them and I will allow them to lean on me. And I will pay respect to the man who, in some way, brought us all into the world. And I will not overlook - or under appreciate - the love and support of my family.

Rest in peace Grampa.

Fair?

I am a journalist. As much as I might try to struggle and rage against it, that's what I do for a living and its likely I'll keep doing it for some time to come. Now, of course there are wide variations in the types of people that give themselves this title. There are the small town newspaper reporters, covering the township board meetings across the United States. And there are the courageous journalists traveling into war zones, or traveling with The President. I am somewhere in the middle. But, what we all have in common (at least at the beginning) is the desire to be fair. To tell a story the way its supposed to be told, and to resist letting our personal thoughts, beliefs and feelings get in the way. But today I found myself struggling to do the opposite.

What is "fair" about what is happening in Haiti? And how do I "fairly" tell the story to the viewers sitting at home, with the news on in the background as they sit down for dinner. I've been producing news for a long time. And - I hate to say it - disasters of this magnitude have happened a few times during my career. First the September 11th terrorist attacks, then the Tsunami, Hurricane Katrina, now Haiti. And - I hate to say it - it's going to happen again.

Oh, these are the times when a journalist can really shine! Right? At a time when the suffering, the chaos and the misery are just beyond words, most journalists will dig into their bag of cliches.

They'll spew out lines like:
"The devastation is unimaginable."
"The horror of the tragedy is undescribable"

There are the standard words:
"Devastation, horror, tragedy, chaos, grief and grieving"

And while some child is probably still sitting underneath tons of concrete, dust, wires, shit and piss watching his parents decompose; some pretty, twenty-something reporter with too much makeup and too much hair spray is literally singing the words into a microphone. You know - the way almost every TV reporter has to sing their lines: "The dev-uh-staaaay-shun is UN-imagine-a-buullll.

I struggle against cliches every day. And today I tried my best to be fair. Fair to the people who deserved to know just how awful the situation is in Haiti, and fair to the people who died, who are about to die, or who have watched their children, their parents or friends die.

I wrote something like this:

"Haiti was already one of the poor. But this earthquake has taken a country that was on its knees and knocked it to the ground. Tens, maybe hundreds of thousands have died. Bodies are lying all over the place - some covered with sheets, others uncovered in plain sight. At night, little children go to sleep with a pile of rotting corpses only a few feet away. And with each hour that passes, the need for aid becomes more and more urgent."

Okay, I didn't resort to any of those loathsome cliches, and I think I brought enough graphic detail to the story to tell it fairly. But I'm not about to pat myself on the back for writing a paragraph while those people suffer. I haven't been there - never in my life. And I certainly have never seen or heard or smelled a disaster of those proportions. I wrote that from watching the video come down on feeds.

All day, I watch the images stream into our newsroom, and in a few days - like much of the world - I will become numb to them. Soon, the Haiti earthquake will get bumped down from the lead story to follow a school board meeting or an armed robbery. Soon it will take only 20 or 30 seconds of my newscast. And soon we'll forget. And soon, we'll start using words like "devastation" and "tragedy" to describe another story, somewhere else in the world.


Is that fair?